The mule I stole from you last summer will be along this way to-morrow afternoon. He will be driven by a young tenderfoot, who will claim to have purchased him from someone at the post; but don’t you believe him. He stole him, as I did. Be on the watch.
“Now,” continued the ranchman, after Oscar had finished reading the note, and his words found an echo in the heart of the young taxidermist, who backed up against the wagon-wheel and gazed fixedly at the paper he held in his hand, “there’s something that isn’t exactly square about this business. The language made use of in that communication is as correct as any I could use myself, and I have had some schooling; in fact, I spent four years in William and Mary College. I am acquainted with Lish, the Wolfer—that is, I know as much about him as any white man does, for he used to herd for me—and if I had a sheep on my ranch as ignorant as he is I’d make mutton of him at once. Lish never wrote that note. He has somehow managed to pick up a partner who knows a thing or two, and he is the one who did the writing.”
Oscar knew that very well. He recognized the bold, free hand as soon as he put his eyes upon the note. It was his brother’s.
“I wouldn’t be willin’ to give much fur that feller’s ketch,” remarked Big Thompson. “Lish is mighty keerless when it comes to the dividin’.”
“I thought at first it was a trick of some kind,” continued the ranchman, whose tone seemed to grow kindlier the longer he talked to the now discouraged young hunter; “but when I saw the mule I knew it wasn’t. I am sorry I dropped on you so suddenly, for I really believe you bought the mule.”
“Indeed I did, sir,” answered Oscar, trying to choke down a big lump that seemed to be rising in his throat. “As I told you, I paid the money for him in the presence of witnesses.”
“Have you done anything to make an enemy of Lish?”
“I never exchanged a word with him.”
“Nor his partner, either?”
“I have never injured his partner in any way.”